<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>scents &amp; sensibility by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738295">scents &amp; sensibility</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Financial Consultant Dean Winchester, Fluff, Food, Food Porn, How Many Times Can I Tag Food?, Lots of Food, M/M, Scents &amp; Smells, Sommelier Castiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:41:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three things Dean knows about betas:</p><p>(1) Betas are boring.<br/>(2) Betas can be passive.<br/>(3) Betas have a mediocre sense of smell (well, unless you're Cas).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>scents &amp; sensibility</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/gifts">tiamatv</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_josephine">ms_josephine</a> :&gt;</p><p>all my love and thanks to tia for being eternally wonderful about my chicago references </p><p>... um. was this an excuse to write food porn? (yes, yes it was)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lincoln Park marks the beginning of the end of everything. Or rather, that’s how Dean pictures it, because everything falls apart one dismally sunny day.</p><p>He’s sitting there on a park bench, legs crossed, biting into an absolutely <em>Banging-with-a-capital-B</em> burger—the kind that spills secret sauce all over his fingers and oozes cheese like no tomorrow—when Cas shifts besides him and straightens up, eyes narrowed.</p><p>Dean hardly looks up when Cas asks, “Do you smell that?”</p><p>“Smell what?” Dean’s still completely occupied with his burger, lettuce and tomato scattering all over his lap, and he sloppily swipes the crumbs from his neatly-pressed slacks. The only thing invading his senses is rich, juicy meat overlaid with the crispness of fresh onion. Dean doesn’t have the keenest sense of smell, so that doesn’t stop him from overindulging in foods with tongue-punching flavors. To hell with that <em>80% of taste is smell</em> nonsense.</p><p>“<em>That</em>,” Cas gestures vaguely in front of them, his watch glinting in the spring sunlight. Dean swallows and reluctantly puts his burger down, eyes following Cas’s hand. There are a fair number of pedestrians rushing along the footpath in front of them, frazzled-looking mothers dragging their screeching kids from half-day kindergarten, angry businessmen screaming into their phones, even the local dog-walker struggling to maintain some semblance of order as he’s dragged along by a motley pack of mutts.</p><p>In other words, it’s your everyday Tuesday lunch rush.</p><p>“Uh, flowers?” Dean’s brain helpfully supplies. The stifling heat of the May sun is definitely burning the remaining brain cells he has left after his early morning meetings. Roman was on his ass, griping about portfolios here and there, and Dean’s glad to get away from it all, even if it’s just for a quick lunch with Cas and burgers from the diner down the street.</p><p>“No, something deeper. Something dry and robust, with hints of cedar.” Cas inhales. “A rich aroma with the slightest tinge of spice. My recommendation is a nicely charred or smoked prime steak with roasted vegetables.”</p><p>“Dude.” Dean shakes his head. “Your wine guru is showing. Can I get an order of plain English, please?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.” Cas nods, lost in thought. “Nutmeg? Vanilla? Clove? Perhaps some cardamom?”</p><p>“Did you just raid my pantry cabinet?” Dean jokes, hesitating when he realizes Cas is doing that head-tilt thing of his again. “Just kidding.”</p><p>“But do you not smell it?”</p><p>Dean wrinkles his nose and sucks in a good lungful of air. There’s only the slightest prickle, and nothing more. Everything else has been overpowered by the delicious burger perched tantalizingly on his knee, and speaking of his burger—</p><p>He picks up his lunch and takes another gargantuan bite, sauce dribbling down his chin. <em>Fantastic</em>.</p><p>Cas is surveying him now, an odd expression on his blushing face. “Dean, I can’t believe you aren’t smelling what I’m smelling, because it is absolutely decadent, utterly reminiscent of one of the best Cabernet Sauvignons I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting anywhere.”</p><p>Dean sighs, because he’s lost Cas in the world of wine and that’s something, especially considering how Cas is Castiel Novak, Master Sommelier, He-Who-Smells-And-Tells-All (the last one was Gabe’s idea). Oh, and First-Of-His-Kind, on account of Cas being a freaking <em>beta sommelier</em> of all things.</p><p>Sommeliers have always been a rare species, given their extraordinary talents in smell and taste, and most sommeliers are alphas and omegas due to the whole “<em>we’re better at smelling</em>” thing that they like to flaunt over betas. And it’s not even that betas aren’t good at smelling but rather the fact that alphas and omegas were just <em>that</em> much better at it. So beta sommeliers? Practically unheard of. High-level beta sommeliers? You’d have a better chance finding a real unicorn.</p><p>So when Cas—a relatively unknown advanced sommelier whose only claim to fame was being a beta in a decidedly unbeta industry—decided to go all in for the Master Sommelier exam and passed it <em>on the first try</em>, well, frankly, the entire wine industry went into a tizzy because, God forbid, a beta Master Sommelier? <em>The sheer audacity</em>.</p><p>(Dean knows just how much time Cas spends studying and cramming in his books and notes. Dean’s Impala, Baby, knows how many miles Cas travels to get to his classes. Hell, even Dean’s bank account knows the true consequence of having a best friend who tastes and recommends expensive wines for a living.)</p><p>He hurriedly finishes his burger and sniffs again. “Uh, no? Still nothing.”</p><p>“I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.” Cas purses his lips, sweat dotting his forehead. “This scent is just so intense.”</p><p>“You doing okay, Cas?” Concerned, Dean rifles through the greasy brown bag and comes up with a few shoddy napkins. “You’re sweating up quite a storm there.”</p><p>“Dean, I don’t—” is all Cas manages before he slumps over, head colliding against Dean’s ear. Dean’s head rings before he springs into action, gently guiding Cas’s head down to his lap and fumbling for his phone. A short phone call later, and the paramedics arrive to a small crowd surrounding a large oak tree in the park, a frantic Dean kneeling on the ground and dabbing at Cas’s forehead with a wet napkin.</p><p>The paramedics waste no time in covering Cas with damp towels before sprinting him into the ambulance, Dean hitching a ride next to his friend.</p><p>“Do you know if the patient has ever experienced symptoms like these?” The paramedic in the back asks. Dean doesn’t remember much about her except that she’s a pretty brunette who introduced herself as Meg.</p><p>“Uh, no. I don’t think so. Never like this.” he sputters.</p><p>“Could you tell me more about how he was acting before the incident occurred?” Meg calmly pressed another ice back to Cas’s forehead.</p><p>Dean racks his brain. “Um, he was sweating a ton, and his face was really red.”</p><p>“Anything else?”</p><p>“Uh, he was talking about something he smelled and apparently it smelled really good. but I didn’t smell anything.” Dean offers.</p><p>“Hm.” Meg falls silent, face pinching in concentration. Her next question throws Dean for a loop. “Has he ever gone into heat before?”</p><p>“<em>What?!</em>” Dean nearly chokes.</p><p>(There are two medical emergencies in the ambulance now.)</p><p>“It’s a perfectly normal question, Mr. Winchester,” Meg responds. “So, would you mind telling me if he’s gone into heat before? Or is this his first time?”</p><p><em>What the actual fuck is this woman on</em>? Dean can feel his heart racing faster than the ambulance is driving to the hospital.</p><p>“Cas—<em>wait</em>, no, what—Cas, shit—<em>Cas is a fucking beta</em>,” he all but screams, trying desperately not to lose it in the confined space.</p><p>“Mr. Winchester, it’s completely understandable to feel anxious in times like these,” Meg says placatingly, as if she’s had this conversation thousands of times. “We’ve been seeing more and more cases of late-onset presentation, particularly with omega males—”</p><p>And her words rush into Dean’s ears and bounce right out. Dean’s palms are clammy as he wipes them down with his suit jacket, willing his erratic heartbeat to steady. <em>Nononono this can’t be happening</em>, his inner voice screeches. Ever since he and Cas stuck with each other through all of high school and college with nary an inkling of a heat or a rut, Dean just chalked it up to fate that their friendship was meant to be. They’re supposed to be beta besties, the ones with the boring designations, the ones who go against the status quo and do whatever shit they feel like doing, Cas being <em>the</em> beta Master Sommelier, Dean being Dean Winchester, Financial Consultant, He-Who-Munches-And-Crunches-Numbers (also courtesy of Gabe). They’ve both worked hard to get away from their labels, and this <em>Cas-may-or-may-not-be-an-omega-but-definitely-not-but-also-who-knows-this-is-all-confusing</em> cloud looms over Dean’s happiness and sense of stability.</p><p>At the hospital, he goes through the motions and finds himself pacing in the waiting room, twiddling his thumbs as he shakily calls Gabe.</p><p>“Deano?” There’s a sound of beeps and boops coming from Gabe’s end.</p><p>“Gabe? I’m at the hospital with Cas.”</p><p>The beeping stops. “Oh, shit. I’m on my way.”</p><p>“No worries, he’s okay. The doctor’s gonna be out any minute now.”</p><p>“I’m still coming.” The phone clicks and Dean exhales, sliding himself into a seat of anxiety.</p><p>The doctor shows up and tells him it’s a bad case of sunstroke and not a late-onset heat as previously suspected. Dean all but collapses in the nearest chair, relief coursing through the grin on his face. He’s still smiling dumbly when Gabe shows up, asking him why the hell he looks so damn happy.</p><p>~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~</p><p>The second shock hits him in Water Tower Place, where Dean rides the escalators up and down, waiting for Cas to finish his business in Old Town. He’s been granted a rare weekend off, so Dean’s shimmying his way through the Mile, counting down the minutes until Cas is free. His stomach started gurgling a while ago, so he caves in and assaults his taste buds with bits and kernels of salty-sweet Chicago mix while strolling through the shopping center. Most everyone on Dean’s team—the entire office, even—still makes fun of him for eating that touristy crap when he’s already been working in the city for so long, but Dean doesn’t pay them any attention. The sticky, cheesy popcorn reminds him of dingy movie theaters, impromptu picnics, and stargazing sleepovers under a cloudless Kansas sky. Dean wonders how Sammy’s doing over in the Big Apple; he's probably fighting through cases for the high-profile elites and fending off potential suitors.</p><p>Speaking of Sam—Dean jostles his Chicago mix in one hand and fumbles through his phone with the other. His little brother’s coming to town next week for some meeting, and Dean still needs to clean up his townhouse before then. He makes a mental note to vacuum everything and get some new curtains and silverware; the old ones are barely hanging by a thread, and though Dean knows that Sam won’t mind eating with plastic knives and forks, a nice set of silverware is definitely in order.</p><p>Dean’s sauntering his way through the first floor when he gets a text from Cas, telling him to meet at Al’s for lunch. Grumbling, he inhales the last of the Chicago mix and tosses the bag in the trash, checking the schedule for The L before realizing it’ll be much faster to walk there. He skedaddles through the street with rushed <em>‘scuse me</em>s when he bumps into other people, panting when he finally reaches Al’s.</p><p>“Cas!”</p><p>“Hello, Dean.” Cas looks up from his phone, arms straining under the burden of several bags. Dean reaches out and grabs a few of the bags to help and nearly buckles from the sheer weight.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” He slides a bag over one arm, wincing at the handles digging into his skin. Sitting at a desk all day and prepping files has definitely taken its toll on his body. “You buy rocks or something?”</p><p>“No,” Cas grunts as they drag his haul into the joint. “Babs was there today.”</p><p>“Oh.” Dean remembers Babs, the lovely beta proprietor of The House of Glunz who, upon learning that the beta Master Sommelier was perusing her establishment, swooped in and took Cas under her wing. He’s met Babs once or twice when he follows Cas to his favorite place to shop for wines, and the lady waxes poetic about Cas’s uncanny abilities in discerning subtle flavors and textures from her wines. Babs has an incredibly soft spot for Cas, and every trip back from Glunz feels like some month-long expedition complete with a trove of heavy bottles.</p><p>“It was only supposed to be a single vintage Zinfandel,” Cas trembles as he eases the bags onto a chair. “But then came another, and another, and then Babs brought out this terrifically scrumptious Cabernet Sauvignon that reminded me of the aroma in the park and I just had to buy it.”</p><p>Dean’s heart twinges uncomfortably like the first stab into a cork from a sommelier’s knife. He’s been tiptoeing around this subject as much as possible in a most un-Dean-Winchester way, and even though the doctor assured him that Cas was still very much a beta, Dean couldn’t help but think back to Meg’s words about late-onset presentation and male omegas and heat. He’d tossed and turned that night, dreams of Cas leaving in the arms of some egotistical alpha taunting him, sprinting Cas off into some lavish high society wine tasting or the like. Roman gave him hell the next morning at their daily meeting for not paying attention, but Dean waved off his lecture in favor of drowning himself in a steaming cup of hot coffee.</p><p><em>Whatever</em>, he grumbles inwardly as he walks towards the register.</p><p>“Meh.” Dean declares out loud, grimacing as the perplexed cashier smacks her gum. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that. I’d like a sammich please, hot dipped, fries on the side.” He turns back towards their table. “Whatcha want, Cas?”</p><p>Cas orders a salad (<em>why would you do this to yourself</em>, Dean thinks) and when he finishes paying and returns to his seat, they sit in stilted silence. There’s a random baseball game broadcasting on a tiny from a shelf behind Cas’s head, so Dean turns his attention towards whatever inning they’re in. It also gives Dean the excuse to covertly study his best friend’s face.</p><p>It’s a goddamn divine face, he thinks, with sparkling azure eyes framed by mussy obsidian hair and rounded out with a broad stroke of pink lips. Cas is very, very handsome, bordering on gorgeous territory, and if Dean isn’t careful, he’ll easily end up in the danger zone. Not even Sam will be able to bail him out if he gets there. Mostly, though, Dean doesn’t know who to thank on God’s green earth for blessing him with Cas’s presence and allowing him the opportunity to be with a literal angel.</p><p>A literal angel who is now staring at him with a hint of mild concern.</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Were you listening to a word I said?” Cas asks.</p><p>“Uh, could you repeat that? What you were saying, y’know.” Dean gulps down his water and coughs on a piece of ice. <em>Way to go</em>.</p><p>“Charlie’s having a housewarming kickback next Saturday, and she wants to know if we’ll be going. She said that she sent you a text but you never responded.”</p><p>Dean perks up. Maybe it’s the fact that Cas mentions Charlie, one of the few friends he’s made outside of his office, although she works in software engineering at a rival company. He and Charlie became fast friends, especially after that whole <em>our-friends-set-us-up-on-a-date-but-we’re-totally-batting-for-opposite-teams</em> incident when they first met that resulted in laughter, chaos, and way too many spilled margaritas. Or maybe it’s because Cas slips in the <em>we</em> instead of <em>you</em>, a subtle hiccup that warms Dean’s heart and face, reminding him that yep, he and Cas are still pretty much inseparable outside of their busy lives. Dean quickly scrolls through his phone, guiltily swiping over Charlie’s emoji-filled texts and firing off a quick apologetic response.</p><p>“Yeah, ‘course <em>we’re</em> going.” He draws it out, catching Cas’s eye. “And Sammy’s coming to town for some business thing, so I’ll bring him along.”</p><p>Cas lights up. “I haven’t seen Sam in a while. It’ll be nice to see a familiar face again.”</p><p>Their food arrives without much fanfare, and Dean wastes no time tucking into his Italian beef with all the gusto of a starving child. The short rib is perfectly sliced, thin strips shimmering with silky au jus and peppered with the bright crunch of giardiniera. He practically moans as the hot garlic bread hits his tongue, the sandwich creating an enviable cheese pull from the melted provolone. Dean’s a sucker for good textures, and he noisily devours his fries, licking his lips after each salt-encrusted bite.</p><p>“Cheese?” Cas looks at Dean’s plate in exasperation. “What are you, a tourist?”</p><p>“I’m not the one who decided to get a salad at a <em>beef store</em>,” Dean retorts, taking another giant bite for emphasis.</p><p>The only responses he gets is an emphatic huff as Cas continues taking small bites of his salad. There’s a tuft of red cabbage sticking out the edge of his mouth tauntingly.</p><p>Dean doesn’t even realize he’s what he’s doing until his thumb awkwardly brushes against Cas’s cheek and his stubble.</p><p>“Gotta bit of–”</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>Both gulp at the same time.</p><p>“—cabbage over there,” Dean finishes lamely, pointing to Cas’s lips.</p><p>“Thank you, Dean.” Cas’s eyes are unreadable as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.</p><p>The rest of the lunch passes in a haze as Dean desperately hides his embarrassment behind the remainder of his fries. The cashier comes by to bus their table when Cas goes to the bathroom, and Dean grimaces as she bats her eyelashes and slips a small piece of paper in front of him. Before Dean can read the ten digits scrawled in bubbly font, Cas is back at their table, reaching down to grab his bags.</p><p>“Popular as always,” Cas eyes the slip. Dean folds it up and slides it into his pocket.</p><p>“Nah, she just wants something she can’t have,” he chuckles as they leave the restaurant.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“She probably thought I was some hotshot alpha or something. Jokes on her—just your basic beta here.”</p><p>“Dean.” Cas frowns as they walk past the shops and back towards Water Tower Place. “You’re not just a <em>basic beta</em>. You’re a financial consultant at one of the top firms in the country. And you’re one of the most hardworking and compassionate people I’ve ever met. I’m honored to call you my friend, secondary designation be damned.”</p><p>And Dean blushes, because he doesn’t want to admit that Cas, in all his wisdom and frankness, might be right.</p><p>They enter the shopping center and browse the stores for a bit, with Dean buying a new set of curtains and a tablecloth for his dining table and an obscenely expensive tie that he insists on giving to Cas because it matches his eyes. Cas fumbles with the gift, pink tinting his face.</p><p>It’s all going well until they reach the seventh floor and are walking past Bath &amp; Body Works. Suddenly, Cas comes to a screeching halt and makes a beeline to the nearest bench, settling in with a quiet groan. Dean’s by his side in a flash, eyes furrowing with worry. He’s beginning to have uncomfortable flashbacks to the neighborhood park emergency.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.</p><p>“I don’t feel too good,” Cas hisses between gritted teeth. “It’s the smell.”</p><p><em>Oh, here we go again!</em> Dean screams inwardly, because he’s not about to go back to the hospital because of some misdesignation mishap. Fate can’t be this cruel.</p><p>(Can it?)</p><p>“What smell?” he awkwardly rubs circles into Cas’s back, hoping to calm him down.</p><p>“Apples,” Cas breathes deeply, “and caramel. I can sense a bit of vanilla and butterscotch.”</p><p>Dean gulps in air like he’s drowning, but all he manages is a fantastic sneeze that echoes throughout the shopping center, much to the confusion and annoyance of the other shoppers.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mutters as he wipes his nose. “I got nothing.”</p><p>Cas is doubled over. “Deaaan, I want to go home. My stomach feels like it’s twisting into knots.”</p><p>“Hold on.” Dean bends down and scrutinizes Cas’s face, placing a hand on his forehead before yanking it away. Cas feels warm to the touch, sweat beading his forehead as he rocks back and forth on the bench.</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>,” Dean gasps.</p><p>“—restroom,” Cas bleats, and Dean watches helplessly as his friend makes a beeline to the bathroom. He sits on the bench to wait, sniffing the air once more for the scents that Cas was talking about.</p><p>Still nothing. He sneezes again.</p><p>Then the anxiety starts to kick in. Given Cas’s talents, it makes sense that he can smell things most people can’t, but Dean starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with himself.</p><p>Oh, God. What if Cas really is a—</p><p><em>Nopenopenopenope</em>, Dean chants in his head, banishing all thoughts about designations and heats and everything in between. <em>Not even gonna think about this right now</em>. <em>Nopenopenope</em>.</p><p>He’s still chanting the mantra when Cas returns from the bathroom and tells him that it’s probably a bad case of food poisoning and that he wants to go home as soon as possible. The mantra continues weaving through Dean’s ears as they leave Water Tower Place, Cas’s bottles in their arms and Dean’s heart in his throat.</p><p>~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~</p><p>The kickback at Charlie’s place is the straw that breaks Dean’s <strike>heart</strike> back.</p><p>Sam arrives earlier that week in a whirlwind of suits and ties, all smiles and laughter as he breezes through Dean’s townhouse and chatters about his latest work, but his calming demeanor does little to soothe his brother’s worries. Dean’s still panicking about Cas, still wracking his brain about hidden smells and secret scents. He’s spent way too much time scouring through online forums and watching videos about late-onset presentation that he’s practically earned a master’s in secondary designation from Google University.</p><p>When Saturday comes around the corner in all her weekend glory, Dean already feels like he’s been steamrolled into the ground. It’s been a difficult week at work, with Roman’s constant jabs in the office and all the OT Dean’s been pulling to finish his projects, not to mention the irritating cold he’s been nursing and has barely gotten over. Charlie’s party is literally the last thing on his mind when he gets a text from her reminding him to bring Settlers of Catan and the expansion packs to her place. Dean is torn between moping at home and eating his own weight in ice cream or going to Charlie’s and drinking his weight in expensive liquor. (The omega does have quite an impressive collection in her arsenal, after all.)</p><p>He really, really doesn’t want to see Cas right now, going so far as to skip their biweekly lunch dates (the cold makes for a convenient excuse)—and it’s not because he has a <em>problem</em> with Cas, per se, but rather the whole situation with the smelling and the scenting and the entire designation-shmesignation thing. Honestly, Dean’s terrified because he doesn’t want to lose Cas and everything they share. Sure, Cas will say that it doesn’t matter, but the greater part of society would probably have something to say about a highly desirable omega being best friends with a fairly boring beta.</p><p>What if Cas is actually an omega? What will people think? Will it detract from all the hard work he’s put into his sommelier career?</p><p>Most of all, will he still want to hang out with Dean?</p><p>The last question lingers in the air as Dean conducts a brief cost-benefit analysis of attending Charlie’s kickback in his head. He’s still debating his options as he towels off after his shower and shrugs on some clean, decidedly non-corporate clothes. Dean’s been meaning to introduce Sam to Charlie for a while, and it’s also a great chance to check out Charlie’s new place <em>and</em> her liquor cabinet...</p><p>Charlie’s, it is. And if it doesn’t work out then, well, at least Dean will get some nice booze out of the whole shebang.</p><p>Charlie’s place is a quick ride on the L and a brief stroll away, the two brothers ending up in front of a pretty little greystone with a neatly trimmed hedge out front before they know it. Dean’s nerves jolt all over the place as he rings the doorbell, and he watches Sam bounce nervously on his feet like an enthusiastic puppy. The door swings open and a flash of red hair whips around Dean and pulls him in for a tight hug.</p><p>“You made it!” Charlie beams. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”</p><p>“Hey, Char,” Dean smiles weakly. “It’s been a while.”</p><p>“And you—” Charlie turns her attention towards Sam. “You must be Sam! I’m Charlie, probably Dean’s best friend here in Chicago. Well, except for Cas, but no one can top Cas.”</p><p>Charlie waggles her eyebrows at the last part. Dean covertly flips her off.</p><p>“Well, don’t just stand there. C’mon in, the food’s done and we’re all waiting!” Charlie drags both brothers through the doorway and into the house.</p><p>The food turns out to be homemade deep-dish pizza courtesy of Gilda, Charlie’s alpha girlfriend. She hands Dean a piping hot slice from the edge of the pan, all buttery and flaky and shiny, just how he likes it. He grabs another slice and retreats towards the corner of the frunchroom where Sam is waiting for him next to Charlie’s gigantic liquor shelf.</p><p>“It looks so good,” Sam says reverently when Dean passes him a plate. “I’ve never had this kind of pizza before.”</p><p>“Get ready for the time of your life,” Dean grins. He watches Sam’s eyes widen at the marinara sauce dripping onto the plate when he cuts through the pizza with a fork, exposing layers of cut meats and gooey cheese. Dean stabs a bit of sausage and a slice of pepperoni before biting in with gusto.</p><p>It’s like Heaven on Earth, he muses, with the meat crumbling between his teeth and the cheese burning his tongue. The slightly spicy sauce zings around his mouth, the crispy crust so addictive he eats bite after bite, ignoring the tingling sensations on his tongue.</p><p>“She’s really outdone herself this time,” Dean says to no one in particular.</p><p>“She has. This shelf is one of the finest assortment of liquors I’ve seen,” a gravelly voice replies, and Dean flinches when Cas peers over his shoulder. He’s wearing the necktie that Dean gave him, sky blue fabric bringing out his eyes.</p><p>“Uh, I was talking about the pizza.” Dean is suddenly very, very interested in the empty plate in his hands.</p><p>“My apologies. I was mistaken,” Cas says, directing his attention to Sam. “Hello, Sam.”</p><p>“Cas!” Sam points to his plate at his half-finished pizza. “Hey, did you try some of the pizza yet? It’s so good.”</p><p>“I have, although my body doesn’t seem to agree,” Cas sighs. “Spicy food has a tendency to upset my stomach.”</p><p>“Aww, that’s too bad,” Sam takes another bite of his pizza. “I like it a lot.”</p><p>Dean makes a motion to leave before Cas looks at him and the awkward feeling returns, mumbling some excuse about getting more pizza and something to drink. Which is how he finds himself wedged between Garth and Ash, two of Charlie’s coworkers whom he knows from networking happy hours in the city. The three of them bemoan their shared frustrations about their bosses (“Absolutely terrible.” “He’s like Satan respawned.” “You have no fucking clue.”) and take shot after shot of Charlie’s expensive liquor. (Well, Garth gags a little, but everyone pretends not to notice.)</p><p>They’re well on their way into a bourbon bonanza when Dean feels an unsteady hand wrap around his shoulder. It’s Cas, and judging by his loopy smile and the tumbler in his hand, he’s had quite a bit to drink.</p><p>“Dean,” he babbles, eyes crinkling. “Have you been avoiding me?”</p><p><em>What</em>? Cas normally has a high alcohol tolerance, and it’s really unnerving to see one of the city’s leading sommeliers swaying around like a newborn fawn.</p><p>"How much have you had to drink?"</p><p>"Perhaps I may have imbibed a copious amount of alcohol," Cas drapes his other hand around Dean. "You didn't answer my question. Have you been avoiding me?"</p><p>“No.” Dean holds firm and stares at his glass of bourbon, because, well, the last thing he wants to do is to confront a mopey, drunk Cas. “I’ve just been busy with… stuff. Work stuff. The stuff I do at work. Oh, and I’ve also been sick.”</p><p>Ash and Garth look unimpressed.</p><p>“But Dean—” Cas’s baby blues bore right into Dean’s soul. “You should’ve told me. I’d have come over.”</p><p>He pouts. Charlie giggles as she takes his tumbler and hands him a glass of water. “Sober up, buttercup.”</p><p>“I think your boyfriend had a bit much to drink,” Garth takes another sip and coughs. “Maybe you should take him home or something.”</p><p><em>Boyfriend</em>?! Dean’s eyes dart around the room, hoping that no one caught that slip, but everyone seems to be busy with their own conversations. <em>Close call</em>.</p><p>“Dean,” Cas is on the cusp of slurring, “Dean, you smell <em>so good</em>.”</p><p><em>Oh, just fucking end me</em>.</p><p>“You smell like—” Cas noses at his neck haphazardly, “—like honey and toasted marshmallows.”</p><p>Dean flails.</p><p>Sam watches in mild amusement over his glass of wine. “You two finally did it, didn’t you.”</p><p>“No?!”</p><p>“Go on, take him home,” Sam tips his glass in Dean’s direction. “I’m sure that Charlie won’t mind if I stay here for a bit.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t. Stay as long as you need,” Charlie is in full hysterics. “This is the most fun I’ve had since Dean tried to—”</p><p>“We’re leaving!” Dean doesn’t even know why he bothers to announce their departure to a house full of almost-strangers. He lugs Cas into the back of an Uber before giving the driver his address, trying to ignore the warmth surging through his body when Cas shifts closer to him and hugs his arm.</p><p>Dean braces himself as he leads Cas into his townhouse. He puts Cas up in the spare bedroom first before wandering into his own room to change. When Dean pulls off his shirt, he sniffs it curiously and sneezes.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck is wrong with me?</em>
</p><p>He goes back into the spare bedroom to check on Cas, only to be pulled down onto the bed with an undignified yelp.</p><p>“Dean,” Cas whines, straddling his thighs. “Stay with me.”</p><p>“Cas, you’re drunk,” Dean struggles to get free, but drunk Cas is also extremely clingy Cas. “I gotta get you out of those clothes.”</p><p>“No,” Cas glares at him petulantly. “We need to talk.”</p><p>“Now’s really not a great time.” Now it’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re drunk and I’m, y’know, pretty tipsy myself.”</p><p>“Are you mad at me?” A big, fat tear rolls down Cas’s face. Dean’s resolve crumbles faster than his mother’s flaky biscuits.</p><p>“Oh, Cas.” He wraps Cas in his arms. “No, really, I’m not. I just had a really difficult week at work.”</p><p>“Is this about my trip to the ER?” Cas asks, voice muffled in Dean’s shirt.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Or my food poisoning?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Or me being a beta?”</p><p>“No—wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I heard you the first time,” Cas continues, “after I got sunstroke at the park. You were talking to that pretty lady in the back of the ambulance, about me being a beta. You were angry. I can hear things, you know.”</p><p>Dean curses Meg and her stupid questions under his breath. “No, wait, you think <em>I</em> have a problem with you being a beta? Why would you think that?”</p><p>“Maybe you want an alpha, a pretty alpha who’s impressive and smart and kind and everything I’m not. And doesn’t have a freaky sense of smell.” The tears are falling fast, seeping through Dean’s shirt and into his skin, and Dean’s heart practically shatters, because Cas has been worrying about the same thing.</p><p>“Cas,” he murmurs, shifting his body so they sit face-to-face. “You are impressive, and smart, and kind, and everything I could ever hope for. And to hell with your sense of smell. I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re a beta or an alpha or an omega, because you’re so much more than a stupid letter. You mean so much to me, and <em>I</em> was scared that you wouldn’t want me anymore because I’m just a guy with a shit sense of smell who can’t even tell the difference between your fancy red wines and all that crap.”</p><p>“Oh.” Cas blushes a startling shade of pink.</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Dean scratches his head. He hasn’t planned on practically proposing to his best friend, but fuck it, the secret’s out already.</p><p>“Oh,” Cas breathes.</p><p>“So, uh, you feeling better?”</p><p>“Dean, I could just kiss you right now.”</p><p>“Go ahe—<em>mmphgh</em>.”</p><p>Their first kiss is punctuated by soft moans and frantic touches, Dean running his hands through Cas’s messy hair while Cas scrabbles at Dean’s shirt. No, there aren’t any fireworks or sparks. <em>Just a mutual understanding between two idiots</em>, Dean thinks as Cas pushes him onto the bed with a sudden <em>thump</em>.</p><p>“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” Cas growls, eyes shining with a feral light as he loosens his necktie. It’s quite literally the hottest thing Dean’s seen in his entire life.</p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck me</em>,” and he pulls Cas downwards by the small scrap of cloth for another spine-tingling kiss.</p><p>Later, when Dean’s ass is sore (in a good way, of course) and his arms are wrapped around his snoring boyfriend, he presses a kiss on Cas's forehead as he remembers Charlie’s words about how no one could top Cas.</p><p><em>Literally</em>.</p><p>~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~</p><p>“You have anosmia.”</p><p>“I nose my what?”</p><p>“Anosmia.” Dr. Tran smiles as he corrects Dean. “It’s temporary, albeit a bit inconvenient. You said you were sick last week, yes?”</p><p>“Yeah, a little bit, I guess,” Dean replies. “But what does that have to do with this anosmia thing?”</p><p>“Well, according to the test we ran, it seems like you have a preexisting sensitivity towards—” the doctor flips through his notes, “coumarin and cinnamal? These are known allergens found in perfumes and other scented body products. That condition, combined with your cold, exacerbated your anosmic symptoms.”</p><p>The cogs slide in place with a neat click. <em>Those fucking smells</em>.</p><p>“Ha!” Dean laughs under his breath. “Are you shitting me?”</p><p>“Did you say something, Mr. Winchester?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing,” Dean says. “So, doc, got any sorta things I can take then?”</p><p>“I’m going to recommend some antihistamines and a nasal spray. It should help bring down your congestion and allow you to breathe better. Does that sound good?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s great,” Dean answers.</p><p>(What he’s really thinking about is the easiest way to fuck over Bath &amp; Body Works.)</p><p>Dr. Tran really, really doesn’t want to know why his patient is smiling like a maniac.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are three things Dean knows about betas:</p><p>(1) Betas are <strike>boring.</strike> <i><span class="u">fucking awesome</span></i><br/>(2) <strike>Betas can be passive.</strike> <i>have you <span class="u">seen</span> Cas?</i><br/>(3) Betas have <strike>a mediocre sense of smell (well, unless you're Cas).</strike> <i>an <span class="u">insane</span> refractory period</i></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>